Burn With Me
by dulce.de.leche.go
Summary: COMPLETE - Dark Volmione Short - Post-War - They all won but somehow, for Hermione, it wasn't at all how it was made out like it was going to be. A slighted woman is a dangerous thing. To slight the brightest witch of the age? Possibly more so.
1. Chapter 1

**Burn With Me**

30 something and nowhere.

That's what she was.

A war heroine.

A wife.

An ex-wife.

A nine to five Ministry worker who was good enough to run for Minister for Magic, have all the appropriately patronizing, supportive campaigns behind her and still "fail to win" the peoples' vote.

 _Why?_

 _Why,_ she'd asked.

The answers she was given were flimsy and hardly believable.

 _Too young._

She was hardly the youngest to run for it.

 _Inexperienced._

She won the bloody WAR for them.

While Harry was busy being broken and confused by fate and Ron foolhardy and headstrong by blood, she was busy winning-the-bleeding-war.

Who researched the horcruxes?

Who figured out the patterns?

Who figured out how to destroy the damnedable things?

Inexperienced her arse.

 _Just too 'unqualified'._

Read: a Muggle-born.

They enjoyed the integration of certain aspects of Muggle culture - ahem, divorce - but they weren't okay with one of the very same leading the wizarding world.

 _Right. Fine. Splendid._

They wanted the freedom to change and _have_ mixed opinions without the commitment of having to; all of them did.

Purebloods weren't the thing anymore. Halves and Muggle-borns made up so much of the population, yet there was something about the latter that still set the others on edge. Her kind wasn't 'unclean', per se...just, apparently, 'unqualified'.

 _You want the choice but you don't want to HAVE to._

 _Well,_ Hermione thought, _I gave you the choice. And I can take it away._

 **. . . . .**

"I shall not be bound as a slave to the likes of you."

"Then you can go back beyond the Veil. Shall I escort you myself? Shall I push you through on my own? Perhaps something more dramatic. You enjoy dramatics, don't you?"

She turned to him and clasped a hand around the locket she had repaired and turned into a phylactery with the ash from what had remained of his diary. Her fingers clenched around the pendant, wand hand turned to him, to send him to his hands and knees before her.

"I will dissolve you, Tom Riddle, cell by cell in the most excruciating way possible. I will send you back to that void in which you say you entertained. Not burning in the fires of Hell, nor singing songs with the bloody Angels. I will unmake you just as easily as I have brought you to stand again before me!"

The man - less snake than man this time thanks to the objects with which she used to restore him - growled venomously at her. "That is NOT my name!"

And she laughed, then turned her wrist more harshly, sending his face to the tile of the Department of Mysteries with the hiss of her spell. "Your name is what I wish it to be!"

The Dark Lord struggled against her magic. His strength was still returning and he knew, by the feel of it, that he would be at his full power soon enough, yet the compulsion of this witch's spell was woven through the threads of his very being as it existed again on this plane. He grit his pointed teeth, growled and spat at her, lashing out as he could, as often as he was able, yet all it resulted in was her tinkling laughter.

At last, the press of her pulled away and he was able to push himself shakily to his hands and knees.

Spitting out a clump of blood, he swiped a pale forearm across his lips and turned gleaming red eyes up to the woman who was now coming to kneel with him.

"I've a proposition for you...Tom."

He sneered and let his eyes rove over her deceptively dainty figure. "And I have a choice, _my Lady?"_ He spat the last as distastefully as he could muster.

"Not truly, no. But I rather dislike the idea of owning slaves."

Her hand came out to press lightly over his chest and she smirked; it was such a wicked thing it made his brows go up with interest.

"What then?" he asked, eyes narrowed as she ran her hand up the thick muscle of his neck, fingertips dipping into the dark waves tinted with gray that had been born to this incarnation of his body.

"A partnership."

He scoffed.

"As much of one as we can have, anyway. You could be my new beau if you would like. Husband if you prefer."

"I would kill you," he said flatly, nodding to her neck. "If your witchcraft did not forcibly stay my hand, I would kill you where you stand."

She laughed again, chocolate eyes twinkling with mischief. "See? Already thinking like a married man."

At that, he did crack a smile and in every way it was as wicked as the one she sported.

"Perhaps..." He allowed himself to drink her in, shoving his hatred for the Mudblood witch that would command him aside in favor of having a more...objective look at her.

His hand swept up her neck, fingers sliding around it as if to crush the wind from those pipes and, instead, offering a languid caress, his sharpened nails tickling at her flesh. He watched his captor shiver at his touch as though she'd not been handled in such a way in ages...perhaps _ever._

He could work with this.

He _would._

"I would ask one question to my Lady."

Hermione cracked open her eyes and smiled a lazy, catlike smile. "Just the one?"

"What brings such a... _powerful_ witch to these dark halls?"

She preened under his assessment and let both of her hands smooth over his chest, fixing her attention back on him fully. She rose as high as she could on her knees before him in an attempt to match his eye level. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she leaned in ever so slowly, close enough to brush her nose over the tip of his.

"Hell hath no fury," she muttered, glancing at his lips that were no longer thin pieces of flesh stretched hideously over jagged teeth. "I gave away my childhood for these ungrateful sods and I am repaid as a second-class citizen. I risked my life time and time again to save the world as we know it from a tyrannical mad man."

He afforded her a smile caught halfway between a smirk and a sneer.

"I gave my life for this world and they disrespect my sacrifice. So..." She breathed out a sigh and was close enough that it tickled over his mouth and cheeks. "I shall take it back."

His eyes darkened, throat bobbed in excitement, and his pointed tongue came out to whet his lips. "You would give it to me, lay it before me-"

She scoffed. "It is not mine to _give._ " Hermione paused to admire his so strange combination of handsome and monstrous features that her spell brought about before leaning in to brush her lips against his. "This time, however, I shall merely not stand in your way." She smirked and breathed out a soft, " _My Lord."_

The Dark Lord practically snarled before lunging forward and capturing her mouth. He swallowed down her surprised squeak and tangled a hand in her hair. When she gasped, he seized the opportunity to taste her, to trail his tongue past the sensitive flesh of her lips and send pleasure filled chills spiking through her limbs. He moved her to her back, pressed her to the cold tile beneath them both until she was sprawled beneath him, all beautiful wickedness, cleverness, and spite.

"Your friends...your family...your peers," he muttered, swiftly divesting her of her more cumbersome robes. "They would burn you for this-"

Hermione lifted her hips to help along his frantic removal of her clothes. Her own hands slipped beneath the tattered robes she'd found for his new body and practically tore them from his lean, pale flesh. Her breath was coming in shorter pants as he repositioned himself above her, one of those dangerously taloned hands coming to encircle her neck again as firmly as the magic would allow.

"Gone," she said huskily. "What I had of these things left me long ago. All that remains are the wretches that shun me with their polite smiles and tipped caps. They would burn me for bringing back the Dark Lord Voldemort...and they can burn with me for all I give a damn."

He shuddered at his name and title, covering her completely with his reborn body once again. He stole her lips in another fevered kiss and sank into her in one firm thrust that had her arched and keening under him. He swallowed those sounds, too. Her whimpers, her pleas, her gasps for more, he devoured them, he devoured her. With every pump of his hips, he groaned and writhed into the sharp drags of her nails ripping open long lines of flesh in his back.

She would burn.

They would burn.

He muttered promises into her sweat dampened hair that they would _all_ burn.

* * *

 **A/N:** Random Volmione's while out basking in the sun? Sure!


	2. Chapter 2

**Burn With Me**

"I would kill you if I could."

Hermione smiled and stretched out more comfortably on her bed – on _their_ bed – running her hands up over his arms. "You say that every time."

Voldemort returned her smile with a sharp, jagged one of his own and she chuckled as she did each time she saw it. His Lady was so amused that she'd somehow concocted a slightly more handsome version of his first horrific visage - _so_ amused. "And every time I mean it more and more." He traced the tip of the wood over one of her pert nipples, reveling in the way she wriggled under the touch.

He couldn't break her.

He couldn't snap her delicate little spine no matter how much he might long to do so.

He couldn't punish her for bringing him back and entrapping him as she'd managed to do.

All he could do was her bidding…

…except here.

Here, he could take her.

Here, he could have her in whatever way he desired.

Here, he _did_ take her.

And Merlin how his Lady enjoyed it.

His lips replaced the path his wand had traveled moments before and she shifted again, wriggling, writhing, arching into his touches. He'd learned her, every bit of her, and he would perhaps be lying if he were to say that he didn't enjoy it as well.

"I would pick you apart. I would torture you until you screamed… I would make it slow for you," he hissed against her neck. "So very slow."

Hermione turned her head into her pillows, exhaling when his teeth traveled to tug at the diamond set into the single piercing on her lobe – the one he'd extracted from the previous Minister's vaults for her after setting her on the proverbial throne. "I think you'd miss me," she purred.

"Mmm…" Voldemort hummed, drawing her legs up around either side of his bare hips. He rubbed himself against the inside of her thighs, first one, then the other, smirking at the remnants of their coupling not even an hour before. "I think you give yourself too much credit."

She laughed.

It was a laugh that continued to draw him in.

It was sane, far _too_ sane, for a woman that resurrected a Dark Lord to subjugate their people because she was insulted.

But there it was.

Color him intrigued.

"Well _someone_ has to," Hermione mumbled and wove her fingers through his hair to pull him back to a favored spot on her neck. "Merlin knows _you_ won't."

He chuckled against her skin and began a torturous line of nips and bites. "If it is your command…" he felt the words spill forth from his lips and the bile that always accompanied it touched the back of his tongue.

Hermione shook her head. "Not here…never here…"

He shifted his softly glowing red gaze up from the spot at her collarbone to meet her dark one. That too sane mirth that was always present, was gone. Voldemort felt her fingers card through his hair and he couldn't help himself a grin. "You've grown sentimental." He pressed a kiss to her chest, ran his nails over her thighs again with the slightest touch of fondness that he'd reserved for so very little in his first lives. "Perhaps it is _you_ that would miss _me._ "

She huffed and rolled her eyes, pushing him off of her with a stiff arm. Hermione rolled away from him, gave him her back and looked out the window at the world which she now owned. "You ruin everything."

Voldemort chuckled at the grouchy mutter of her words and curled himself all along the length of her backside, slipping one of his legs between both of hers with minimal resistance and only _one_ petulant noise. "And is that not precisely what you called me back to do?" His lips were pressed again to her ear as he spoke and proceeded to dot kisses over the sensitive spot behind it all along her hairline.

Her shoulder moved in a dramatic shrug and it only made him laugh once more.

His arm draped over her waist, palm sliding over her belly in a soothing set of circles before winding its way down and between her thighs to find her center. He stroked her until that same dramatic shoulder started to sag and her breaths turned into huffs and pants and the softest of moans.

"I would kill you if I could," he rasped and groaned when she pushed her rear against him. His hips jerked forward in response and her top leg looped over his. His breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale when she angled her hips to catch on the tip of him and he flattened his palm to push her the rest of the way down his length.

" _Tom!"_

That most hated name was the closest he'd ever reach to Heaven when it fell from her lips in such a way. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, the soft curls of her hair holding the scent of her magic, her ambition, her tenacity…her, her, _her…_

His grip tightened on her and his words were little more than a husky growl. "I would kill you if I could," he rumbled, "but your magic is no longer what stills my hand."

. . . . .

The world did burn.

It burned practically every day.

Such was the way of things when someone like him was released into it for that very purpose.

She rolled his locket around in her palm, the palm that should have been aged and wrinkled by now, but remained youthful and taut and _not._ Not immortal, as she didn't quite care for splitting her soul, but other things…other equally dark things that kept her body frozen in time so she could enjoy her rule.

With a great, shuddering sigh, she took his hand and dropped the thing into his cupped fingers, the long golden chain falling to his skin in a pile with a quick _whoosh._

"You can kill me now," she said simply.

He stared hard at the locket. He'd felt the magic release him, somehow. She'd pulled those threads, those bonds, from his form and tucked it all away into this little pendant instead; isolated it and unmade the contract without unmaking him.

Because she was brilliant.

Because she wasn't truly the monster that people called her – that was _his_ role, also his duty to flay those that spouted off too loudly about his Lady.

Because the distaste of enslaving a devil that she had come to care for had become too great for her to continue to bear.

Intriguing, she was always—had always been—so very intriguing.

His hand shot out to her neck, clamping around her throat more firmly than the magic had ever allowed before. She gasped, but didn't defend herself, didn't move away. Her lids fluttered at the tightening, squeezing grip, but she just swallowed and steadied herself with hands gripping his arm as the oxygen was steadily barred from entering her lungs.

He watched her eyes start to water and turn glassy.

Her mouth came open in another reflexive gasp for air.

But she didn't beg.

She never begged.

 _It was a lie, she did, but only when they…_

His hand released her abruptly and she stumbled, coughing and hacking as her body shuddered, trying to pull in great gulps of air. Hermione wobbled on her feet, teetering and nearly falling, and he scooped her up into his arms to bring her to their bed.

Voldemort deposited her onto the expensive satin sheets, waiting until she'd stopped her wheezing and had her head about her again before he climbed in beside her. He looped his locket around his neck and propped himself on an elbow so he could see her pensive expression staring back at him. When he reached for her again, she didn't flinch, and it made him smile his wicked smile – the one that brought her own out at the show of those sharpened edges of ivory.

"I've not been able to kill you for some time now," he admitted lowly, moving over her.

She tugged her lip between her teeth and reached for his face, her fingers tracing over the harsh angles of his cheeks and chin. Hermione gasped and whimpered at the touch that was now unwrapping her from her formal attire like a present; stroking, touching, feeling every inch of her body, as it was his – had been his – for so long.

"Tom…" she purred softly when he nestled himself between her legs, teasing her with the heat of him beneath his robes.

His lips burned a path from her belly, to her ribs, to her breasts, to her neck, all the way up, up, up to her ear where he licked a wet line over the shell of it with his devil's tongue and she shivered.

She whimpered.

She cried his favorite kind of _'please'._

And he murmured against her skin. "In the morning…you shall come with me and we shall find a way that is more accommodating to your preferences to make it so that no one _else_ can either." He nipped at her jaw with those razor teeth and watched her blood trickle down her neck. "I am afraid I've become _sentimental_ as well."

And she laughed that too sane laugh.

He set the world aflame for her and would not have her consumed by it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, hello. So this WAS supposed to be a one-shot. Now, clearly, it's a...two-shot? I've gotten a flood of messages actually to continue this story and, while I'd really love to, I haven't actually got any ideas for a full length thing. I'm still in the midst of writing the ever so complicated Persephone, but the more I think about this plot bunny, the more I want to expand it too... I can't make any promises, but I can say I'm thinking about it! I have a couple of ideas and, if it turns into something that could possibly be an actual story, I will start it. If I do, it'll be under a separate post, though. For all intents and purposes, we can - for realsies this time - call Burn With Me complete. :) Thanks for the support all!


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